Who’s the Daddy? column

If you thought Christmas was a bizarre time, then New Year is the equivalent of taking some mad hallucinogen and going on a trip to the fourth dimension.

At what other time of year do find yourself in a virtual stranger’s house at 3am, roaring drunk on whatever was left lying about, having eaten so much party food it feels like you’ve swallowed a basketball?

Speaking of food, New Year’s Day is a funny one as well.

The inside of your fridge may well resemble the remnants of a luxury hamper but there’s not enough proper grub in the house to make a decent meal.

Oh sure, there’s salsa dips; cheese, chive and onion dips; a funny pink dip that no one likes; a selection of luxury cheeses that would put the deli counter at Sainsbury’s to shame and some packed lunch yoghurts at the back that went out of date on December 18.

But this is real life, not the final of MasterChef.

You didn’t get to bed til 4am and the inside of your stomach feels like someone’s had a go at it with a stick blender.

When you’re a kid, it seems everyone you meet between Christmas and New Year gives you a present.

When you’re a grown-up, during the same period everyone you meet hands you something to eat and drink.

Usually full of sugar, saturated fat and alcohol.

So it’s no great surprise that most people’s centre of gravity shifts some time around December 30.

Then we all gear up for one last assault on New Year’s Eve before the bells go, the music stops and we wake up on January 1 to see our middle-aged parents staring back at us in the bathroom mirror with a horrified look on their faces.

That was painful enough.

But what hurts even more is Monday, January 5 when you try and get your kids up, fed, washed and out the front door in time for school for the first time in a fortnight.

8.15am is the middle of the night when you’re 15 and 12.

It’s like getting up for a 6am flight to somewhere hot and sunny, but without the holiday to look forward to.